Of Sunflowers and Cockroaches
by dkbond
Summary: Follow the Trio after the Battle of Hogwarts, as they navigate adulthood.
1. Hermione Comes Home

_**30 August 1998**_

"It's nice", Hermione said, half-heartedly looking around the room, an unnatural smile plastered on her face, as Ginny shot a sticking charm at the framed photograph that Harry was propping up against the wall with his hands.

It was a Muggle photograph of the young Marauders and Lily, taken at James and Lily's wedding. Petunia had found it while cleaning the attic after the Dursleys had returned to Privet Drive, a week after the Battle of Hogwarts and sent it through Diggle. Hermione didn't know if Harry had contacted the Dursleys after that-she had left for Australia almost immediately and returned with her parents last night. She had almost been shut out of wizarding England in the intervening couple of months as it was difficult for owls to go all the way to Australia and Brisbane-where her parents lived-was almost all Muggle, blocking her access to the Floo Network.

The first person she met back was Ginny, to buy supplies for the new Hogwarts session and she informed Hermione about Harry and Ron's new flat in Diagon Alley. It was the second most conflicted moment of Hermione's life as she saw with stunned happiness where the flat was located-right on top of Flourish and Blotts-and then realised with a pang that her two best friends were definitely not coming back to Hogwarts.

"Come on", Harry chided her, breaking her out of her reverie, "it's better than nice".

Hermione took in the rest of his room, looking too neat to have been lived in, especially by an 18 year old wizard whose personal hygiene habits were advertised by his head full of messy hair. She was sure Ginny had had a say in decorating the room-there was no way Harry had gone and bought blue bedcovers and a floormat to match the curtains. Or that he had even thought that he needed a dresser. She wondered how Ron's room was done- it was charmed shut in Ron's absence (he had dropped in to the Burrow for a late breakfast), and Ginny and Harry had exchanged disturbingly knowing smirks at that.

"Yeah", Ginny chimed in, "the size is perfect for the two of them-large bedrooms, one large store room, it's all sunny and airy, they can floo to the Burrow or the Ministry, George is nearby, Kreacher likes it enough to drop in twice a day and clean and cook…", she rambled on as Hermione felt her throat constrict, parrying the threat of oncoming tears.

She quickly turned her back to her friends, and moved out of the room, pretending to survey the rest of the house. She had to agree, that it _was_ better than nice. A vine covered spiralling staircase on the side of the building that housed Flourish and Blotts led to the main door. There was a living room to the left of the main door, as yet unfurnished, and an open kitchen to the right, that Hermione suspected would remain unused. A lobby led to the two bedrooms. The left-most wall of the living room has two doors, one leading to the balcony that faced Diagon Alley and another, presumably to the store-room that probably housed all kinds of rubbish that Mrs Weasely had discarded from the Burrow. Or maybe Harry and Ron could use it as a broom closet or coat rack. Not that they needed her input. Ginny was here, and Kreacher, apparently. And they had jobs now, while Hermione was still in school, so really _they_ were the legitimate adults. Hermione's brooding was interrupted by the fireplace in the living room making a whooshing noise, signalling a new arrival.

She turned around to see Ron stumbling out while brushing soot off his clothes. Looking up, he spotted Hermione, and beamed at her. She flashed him a tight smile in return, wanting nothing more but to fling herself at him, the way she had at Harry, but hesitated. He seemed to note that, as his smile weakened, and the top of his ears turned pink.

"Hi," Ron said, awkwardly, averting his gaze.

Hermione flashed him another uncomfortable smile, the pain in her throat not having eased up. He asked her if she wanted to see his room and she nodded eagerly, though neither made any move in the right direction. It took Ginny hooting for Ron to finally roll his eyes, mutter disdainfully about precocious _school-girls_ and pull Hermione towards the door that carried a plaque announcing that it was RONALD'S ROOM.

"I got it from home", Ron said, while brandishing his wand at the door, making some complicated manoeuvres to unlock it. Hermione raised her left eye-brow at that and Ron shrugged, ushering her inside.

"Got Bill to show me those, even Alohomora cannot open my door. Can be bloody complicated, the first week I kept forgetting the correct order of the incantations", he explained.

"Why?" Hermione finally croaked out, as she stared at the room. Unlike Harry's freakishly neat room, this one was all Ron. The same Chudley Cannon posters covered the walls as at the Burrow, a familiar orange bedspread covered the single bed, and a book shelf held the same comic book collection that Ron had been reading since he was nine. Something, and Hermione wasn't sure exactly what it was, but something about the garish, cluttered room made her happy and she realised she could smile normally again, which she had been hard pressed to do since entering the flat.

"Those two", Ron said with a shudder, as his thumb pointed to the door, presumably signalling Harry and Ginny.

"What about them?"

"Uh, they tend to get frisky all over the flat", Ron answered, his face screwing up in disgust.

She started to scold Ron for being such a prude, then immediately had a flash of Ron in sixth year, glued to Lavender, and echoed his disgust.

"Yeah", he said noting her expression, "I actually wanted to be obliviated at one point". Then he seemed to remember something, and blushed.

"It's fine, they're fine", Hermione reassured him. "They will be at King's Cross day after, you will see. You will come see me off, won't you? "

Ron nodded at that and started to say something. Then thinking better of it, he closed his mouth and stared blankly at her.

"What?" Hermione prodded.

"I…we…I…there is a surprise for you", he said.

Hermione beamed at him, asking what it was. He cheered up, turned around and opened the door to his room.

"Oi, Harry", he hollered across the lobby, "let's show Hermione… our surprise".

Ginny seemed to have left, as Harry came out of his room alone. He nodded and the two boys started moving towards the living room and Hermione followed them to the door to the store-room she had seen earlier.

"Ready?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded impatiently and Ron opened the door.

The three of them entered, Hermione surprised that the room was much larger and sunnier than she would have expected. The walls were painted lemon yellow, and there was limited furniture. A bed stood along one side of the room, covered with a cheerful white bedspread with tiny yellow sunflowers printed across. There was a window over the bed, overlooking the market below. The two walls on the side were covered by ceiling high book-shelves, both empty.

"How?" Hermione spun around to look at the room, stunned. Ron blushed as Harry smirked.

"You think only you can do an undetectable extension charm?" he asked.

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock.

"Y..you did this? How did you do it on a room? That has to be far more complex than on a bag. Is this even legal?"

"It was Ron's idea", Harry admitted, a little less smug than before. "And Mr. Weasely got Reg Cattermole to do it".

"Yeah, you remember that bloke from the Ministry who couldn't get the rain to stop in Yaxley's office at the Ministry?" Ron said, now smiling.

"Cattermole is in the Ministry, he wouldn't be breaking laws?" Harry interjected, worriedly.

Hermione ignored him, nodding at Ron.

"He may have seemed a little dim, but everyone has a talent apparently, and his is undetectable extension charms. You should see his office at the ministry. His quill stand can hold umbrellas. And he fit in a four poster bed in the supply closet. Which probably explains why he is rubbish at his job", Ron said.

"It's not like we are encroaching on anyone's space, are we?" Harry asked, now sounding quite worried.

"Yes, but old Reggie was falling over his feet to oblige the Boy Who Lived, so I am not sure he cared about laws at that point. Plus who is going to send the Chosen One and his two lackeys to jail?"Ron scoffed.

"Hey, who are you calling a lackey?" Hermione objected at the same time as Harry plonked himself on the bed, head in his hands exclaiming that it really wasn't the point.

"Hello, who is all this for?" Ron spluttered, indicating the room by flailing his hands around, still talking to Hermione.

"We can't use our clout like that. And we certainly can't let people break the law to do us favours. We are aurors now and already people think we are entitled young brats." Harry reasoned. "Hermione, can we check to see if it's illegal?"

Hermione nodded blankly, still looking at Ron.

"I thought you would like the sunflowers on the bedspread", Ron told her, sounding a little unsure. "Luna went with me to buy the furniture and choose the paint, so it might not be your taste, but we can always get new ones later, not this month, but I can get more saved up in two months. I would have liked to take Ginny to shop but I wasn't sure she could keep a secret. And mum couldn't know because she would not approve. But now that it's done she can't do much, and you can come stay with us during the hols and after school. I mean obviously we have to be together right, the three of us…?" Ron glanced at Harry once before looking at Hermione again.

Hermione nodded once, looking fondly at Ron. Then suddenly she flung herself at him, kissing him, their first since the one at Battle of Hogwarts. Ron reacted just as enthusiastically as in the heat of battle while Harry groaned, burying his head in his hands again.

"I think we should make an Unbreakable Vow-no making out in front of each other", he offered weakly.

Ron laughed, pulling back from Hermione.

"Lunch?" he suggested.

"Didn't you just get back from the Burrow?" Harry asked, disbelief in his tone.

"Doesn't matter. I am famished", Hermione lied. Now it was Ron's turn to look at her in adoration. "Let's go to the Leaky? Should we call Ginny?" she suggested, and Harry agreed.


	2. Sanctuary

_**16 September 1998**_

Hermione didn't remember the last time she had researched something out of pure academic interest, for a class essay. It was always going over tomes to see who Nicolas Flamel was, to know how one could survive under water for long time periods, or the best ways to destroy pieces of someone's soul that the certain someone had shredded _purposively_ in the first place. Now look at her, sitting in the library, at the same table as Gregory Goyle, to write an account of the Goblin rebellion from their perspective. A rebellion that had taken place three centuries earlier and did not currently endanger any of her best friends. It was positively adorable, Hermione thought dully.

She didn't want another War, obviously. But she would have liked some adventures - tiny ones that didn't kill anyone, or entail the risk of mad-women wielding the Cruciatus curse, but still allowed her to _do_ something. Maybe something enough to rile up Filch, something with the potential to earn her detention. Hermione liked reading, she did, but unlike her parents and Mrs Weasely who thought that Harry and Ron distracted her from her studies, _she_ knew that being with them ensured a steep learning curve for her. Think about it this way - how difficult can it be to answer a question on the Polyjuice potion in fifth year if she had brewed one in her second? Or tackle Protean charms in her NEWTS when she had used them in successfully in her fifth year? What is a bigger motivator to learn how to cast a Patronus - earning OWLs, or saving herself from Dementors that were intent on plaguing her best friend? Of course the fact that said best friend had learnt to cast a Patronus two years before she did was an added push.

Forget about adventures. Even helping, well pushing, Ron and Harry to study had made her learn better. Effectively, she ended up going through her books at least four times - once when she read them during the summer, later when she read alongwith the class and twice when she sat to correct the boys' work. Harry's fertile imagination kept her on her toes every time she proof-read his essays for History of Magic. And Ron always had the weirdest doubts which she knew were unfounded right away ('Can we imperio animals? Can Harry imperio Nagini to swallow You-Know-Who whole?') but which still made her rack her brains to solve. And it was made more challenging by the boys banding together and throwing inane counter-questions ('What if Harry imperios in Parseltongue'?) that made her laugh, but also made her look up the etymology of incantations and work on inventing her own spells.

Now hardly anybody came to her for help. The largest contingent of people who came to repeat their seventh year was from Ravenclaw - and they refused to consult Hermione on homework as a matter of principle. Ernie from Hufflepuff had no such ego issues but he was so long winded in asking a question, that Hermione often forgot the point of the question by the time he would finish prattling on. Gryffindors, unless they were pliable to her bullying (which they weren't), refused to study so early in the term.

Even Ginny, her friend, paid no heed. They always had such a nice relationship during the summers, when they shared a room, and Hermione finally found an actual female friend who cared about mostly the same things as Hermione, who was perceptive and fun, and who Hermione didn't have to filter herself around. But Ginny was so unlike _Ron_ , all headstrong and self-sufficient. When Hermione tried to tell her nicely, that the thrice a week schedule of Quidditch practice would interfere with her school-work, Ginny had stared at her disbelievingly.

"But I am captain, Hermione".

"Yes, so it's in your power to schedule your practices according to your convenience, you know", Hermione had countered.

"Last year we weren't sure if we would be able to play Quidditch ever again. I am not letting this go", Ginny had shot back with finality.

No unsure waffling. No (false) promises of compensating by putting in more hours studying during the weekend. Just plain refusal.

Hermione sighed. The sound seemed to break Goyle's concentration as he looked up from his parchment and stared at her blankly - apparently a hobby with him, this year, now that he was all friendless and leader-less. Only two Slytherins in their class were back - Goyle himself and Malfoy - both being court-mandated to do so. The two death eaters (or evil gits, in any case, as Hermione wasn't sure if Goyle had taken the Dark mark) had adopted opposing approaches to deal with their school mates. Malfoy was now rarely seen outside the Slytherin common room, and kept his head down during mealtimes and classes. He also seemed to go out of his way to avoid Hermione specifically, whether in class or when they passed each other in the corridors, which was perfectly fine by her. She didn't exactly miss the bigoted name calling. Goyle on the other hand, was everywhere.

He sat directly in her line of vision during meals. When he was early to class, he shared her bench. And he was forever in the library, at first sitting somewhere close by, though never at the same table. Then Hermione had realised that nobody wanted to sit with him; using Unforgivables against most of the student body would probably dent one's popularity. Since Goyle didn't have enough intelligence to construct an actual sentence, this also meant that if she sat at his table, she could work undisturbed. So for the past week, Hermione and Goyle had been sharing a table. He seemed to be working hard most of the time. Really, Hermione would have been quite proud of him if he hadn't been using the rest of the time to stare creepily at her.

"Can I help you?" she asked harshly.

He looked down immediately. Hermione rolled her eyes. Had he thought he was being _subtle_ in his staring? She shook her head, and proceeded to gather her books and notes to go back to the Common Room. Sure it was noisy in there, but they mostly left her alone if she frowned hard enough in the general direction of her house-mates. Maybe she could do some light reading; she wasn't concentrating on her essay here, anyway.

"How to stop fiendfyre?" Goyle spoke up suddenly, as Hermione made to get up from her chair. His voice made her sit back down immediately.

Goyle was now staring at her blankly again, unblinking.

"I don't know. It's better never to start it, it's dangerous", she replied.

He nodded.

"But you can probably find the right book somewhere in the Restricted section", she said, simultaneously remembering Crabbe and the dangers of equipping idiots with incomplete knowledge. "Not that Pince, _Madam_ Pince," she corrected herself, "will let you in", she ended curtly.

Goyle nodded again. Hermione's curiosity got the better of her at that point.

"What are you working on?" she enquired, leaning forward to try and read the heading on the parchment he had been laboriously working on.

He turned it around so she could see. After squinting a little, Hermione made out that it was a half-written (and badly at that) essay titled "Dark Curses and Why You Should Never Use Them".

"Make-up classes", Goyle offered, as Hermione winced at the multiple spelling mistakes, and at least four factual errors that she had already gleaned from a cursory perusal.

She had heard about the classes. It was a special curriculum this year targeted at specific students - most of who were children of Death eaters or death eaters themselves - as in the case of Malfoy and Goyle. McGonagall had brought in Guest faculty to provide lectures revolving around Defence against the Dark Arts, Muggle studies, History of Magic and Wizarding Ethics to undo the propaganda that they had likely been exposed to at home. Hermione thought it should have been open to all students - you didn't have to be death eater spawn to be prejudiced - but logistics and cost issues had allowed only for limited student intake.

"I have to go", she told him, reluctantly pushing the essay back to him, all the while itching to take a red-inked quill and scratching out his mistakes.

He blinked once, then went back to scribbling on the parchment.

As expected, the Common Room was brimming over with students. The first years sat by the fireplace playing a noisy game of Exploding Snap. Half of the fourth and fifth years were gathered around right in the centre cheering on two of their classmates playing a particularly vicious game of rapid chess. Hermione knew it was a set bought from Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes as the black bishop was slaughtering an opposing pawn while discussing the latter's female relatives in colourful language. Another bunch of students she did not recognise were hovering over the transistor, trying to listen to the highlights of a Germany versus France Quidditch match. Hermione scanned the room to see if a corner was available for her to snuggle in with her books, and spotted Ginny waving at her. She smiled back and walked to her armchair where Ginny and her classmate Ritchie Coote sat practising non-verbal spells.

"You are not doing it right", Hermione pointed out at once, recognising that Coote had been just saying the levitating spell softly instead of doing it non-verbally.

Ginny grimaced at that and shook her head slightly at her. Hermione sighed inwardly, remembering Ron's bad attitude back in first year when she had tried to help him with the regular version of the same spell. So she shut up and settled herself in the last chair in the corner.

Coote continued trying to levitate the feather, though since he wasn't saying the spell softly anymore, he was having even less success and growing increasingly frustrated. Ginny was doing better but Hermione guessed from her scrunched up expression that she was repeatedly saying the spell in her head, instead of calmly visualising.

"You know, there are these breathing exercises you can learn that help to focus the mind. Neville…", Hermione started again, stopping abruptly when she realised that Ginny was now glaring at her, her concentration obviously having been broken with the interruption.

"Sorry", Hermione muttered, "I was writing to Neville and left the letter in the library. I will just go and get it", she finished. With that she got up again and returned to her regular sanctuary.


	3. A Day in the Life of Ronald B Weasley

_**18 September 1998**_

"What is it?" Ron asked irritably to Neville, as his ex-classmate and current partner on the Auror Squad, sighed for the third time in the last 15 minutes.

Neville shook his head lightly to indicate it was no matter, then shook his head again with stronger jerks as if to persuade himself that it _really_ was no matter.

Ron nodded, convinced that he had done his bit by showing the appropriate level of concern, and went back to trudge through transcripts of Death Eater interrogations to spot any leads that Aurors on the field could pursue. This had to be the least dangerous thing he had ever done in the fight against the Dark Arts. They weren't even doing the _questioning,_ leaving the job to senior Aurors who had also been members of the Order. Not that there was any great need for questioning, Ron had felt when viewing their memories in the Department's pensieve to transcribe them (all he had done for the first month after his training) – Lucius Malfoy was singing like a phoenix. He had already given the names and crimes of every known Death Eater and incriminated half the Ministry for aiding and abetting war crimes. The Auror Squad had also been much depleted thanks to his testimony. To Mum's delight, this helped fast-track many of Hogwarts's recent alumni, her youngest son among them, into coveted government employment. She would have been happier of course if it was a safer job – something similar to what Dad or Percy did, but then she had no way of knowing (and Ron was certainly not going to admit) that 80 per cent of his considerable working hours were spent reading.

Still, it could have been worse. At least he was in good company, and reading reasonably interesting material. If only he had the ability to go through it as fast as Hermione, Ron wouldn't have to spend so many hours doing it. He even had to come into work the next day, a Saturday, to make up and it rankled because it was Hermione's birthday, as well as the first Hogsmeade weekend. Harry, the-Git-With-All-The-Luck, had managed to land a case right in the Scottish village, where someone had reportedly sighted Rabastan Lestrange. Ron was certain that it was a hoax; after all he spent 20 per cent of his _considerable_ working hours following up on owls from batty old codgers from across the country, who regularly managed to delude themselves about the presence of suspicious activity in their placid neighbourhoods. Only once had these calls amounted to anything – and even that was a break-in attempt for theft – a job for Hit Wizards, not Aurors.

In sum, Harry was currently enjoying a few days ostensibly patrolling Hogsmeade while sneaking off in the evenings to meet Ginny. The 'sneaking off' bit was necessary even in adulthood because Harry's partner was Dawlish, who, channelling Snape's spirit, had decided to hate his younger colleague with a vengeance. Of course he was a fool to believe that seniority in age and experience made him the Chosen One's boss. Anybody (except Harry himself) could see that he was being groomed to take over as Chief once Robards retired. Dawlish on the other hand was destined to retire from the Squad as a mid-ranking Auror, especially given how he had sided with the Ministry during the War. Malfoy's testimony did not put him in the dock though. He was also examined for signs of undergoing the Imperius curse, but the Healer reported in the negative. The general consensus was that Dawlish's only crime was being a sycophantic idiot.

To spruce up the Squad, he, and others of his ilk were made to undergo re-training with the new batch of recruits. It was one thing to go into physical training with people who were half your age and not match up to them (and they didn't), another to be shown up for poor spell-casting by kids, most of whom had learnt Defence from a bespectacled 15 year old. That made Dawlish different from Snape though, Ron corrected himself. At least _his_ resentment was based in jealousy, a sentiment with which Ron was familiar. Snape on the other hand had nursed a thoroughly creepy crush on Harry's mum, a fact that his friend had taken disturbingly well. If Ron had been told that Moody, or Lupin for instance had been lusting after Molly Weasley…though they were never mean to Ron. Maybe Slughorn had fancied Mum…

"…and she said no", Ron looked up as Neville stopped speaking and looked expectantly at him.

"What?" he asked to indicate he hadn't been listening.

Neville sighed. "I asked Hannah to marry me last night and she said no", he repeated softly, continuously throwing furtive glances at the desks in the vicinity to see if anyone was eavesdropping.

"You did what?" Ron asked, thoroughly nonplussed.

Neville sighed heavily again, then raising his voice a little and said, "I asked Hannah to - ."

"I heard what you said!" Ron interrupted loudly.

Proudfoot looked up from his desk, frowning. Ron mouthed an apology to him, then turned to Neville and whispered hoarsely, "What did you go and do that for? You are barely of age!"

"That's what she said", Neville intoned sadly.

Ron felt a little relieved at that. Apparently only Neville was a precocious prat, others of their age thought they were too young to get married too.

"But, we aren't kids you know", Neville insisted. "I mean how many 18 year olds have survived a War? And we wouldn't have to marry right away; we could be engaged for a year or two. Our parents got married young too. What is the point of waiting anyway? You know when you know, right? Like aren't you sure that Hermione is the one? The one you will marry someday?"

As a matter of fact, Ron was sure of no such thing. He wasn't even sure that she was his current girlfriend. Sure she had kissed him a few times, but she had never said anything about specific terms. And it was Hermione, if she thought he was her boyfriend, she would explain it to him in clear terms, right? And all her letters from Hogwarts to Harry and him were of similar length. And both were signed, "Love, Hermione", just the same. (He had checked after getting momentarily excited on receiving his first letter from her this year).

He probably should have said something to her before she left for Hogwarts, he chided himself, but, and there was no better way of putting it, he had been scared. Her being his friend for _years_ only made any conversation along those lines awkward as hell. He could drop coy hints but Hermione was such a serious person he couldn't ever imagine _flirting_ with her. He couldn't even take the initiative to kiss her, always picturing her as stiffening at his forwardness, pursing her lips in a McGonagall-like fashion and saying, "Honestly Ronald, who told you, you could take such liberties?" He had swallowed his fears and tried to kiss her at King's Cross when he went to see her off to the Hogwarts Express, but he had caught Hermione's father shooting baleful glares at him. That had made Ron quickly change his stance, dropping a clumsy kiss on the top of her head and offering her a one-armed hug. She had seemed slightly put off but accepted it anyway.

"Well…aren't you?" Neville wondered aloud at him, expecting an answer to his previous question.

Ron ignored it. Instead he spent the next ten minutes trying to drive some sense into Neville about 18 being much too young to marry.

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Eighteen was not just too young to marry. It was also way too young to have a job and keep house, Ron thought glumly, as he later made his way to Diagon Alley for a spot of lunch. Harry and he were making a valiant effort to cook, after Hermione had railed at them for trying to get Kreacher to do their house-work. They had been easy to convince. Even though Kreacher no longer addressed them by bigoted epithets, he made his disapproval of the small flat clear by muttering discontentedly under his breath for the entire duration of the time he had visited them. Things like 'poverty struck young brats', 'smaller than Kreacher's attic', and 'the kitchen doesn't have a door' were heard.

Not even a month in, Ron would take hours of Kreacher's supercilious commentary if that would mean that he could avoid a hastily made corned beef sandwich forever. That's all he had managed to bring to work today, and nothing could induce him to gulp that down in the cafeteria while Neville whined about his heart-break. So Ron made an excuse about lunch plans with George and made his escape.

Now that he was there, he decided to catch up with George, anyway. Even though they lived close to each other, Ron had rarely seen his elder brother outside of the Burrow after the War. Mum had been pushing him to stop by the shop more often, but his work hours often coincided with the store timings. Of course, George lived just above the shop, and Ron could have made the effort to climb the extra flight of stairs, had he wanted to. Truth be told, he hadn't. Being alone with George was the fiercest reminder of Fred. Ron continuously felt guilty about it – how he had somehow bypassed the mourning period by throwing himself into his job and then moving out. He also reckoned that it couldn't be healthy, what he was doing.

And he wasn't alone in this. George had shown up at the cemetery at the time of burial but was conspicuously absent at the memorial service. Mum had found him in his old room after the service, passed out from drinking, but had lacked the will to scold him for that. That was George's one moment of weakness. After that, he had busied himself in opening a new branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade, talking exclusively about his plans every time he came to the Burrow. At times he would try to be his old self, ribbing Percy for his officiousness and teasing Harry and Ron about their love lives, but those moments were few.

Which is why Ron was pleasantly surprised to spot George through the store's window, laughing raucously at something a ginger-haired man in front of him (who had his back to Ron) was saying. The sign in front of WWW showed that it was closed for lunch, so Ron knocked on the window to catch his brother's attention. George waved back, and pointed his wand to the door to let Ron in.

Ron entered to see that George and his friend were both still laughing about their shared joke while holding bottles of firewhisky in their hands. They had likely been drinking for some time, if their cheery disposition was any indication.

"A bit early for that, mate?" Ron asked, pointing at the bottles.

"It's a celebratory drink", George waved him off. "This", he said, indicating the other man in the room, "is Frank White, the newest employee of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He will help me with research, but mostly man the Hogsmeade branch".

Ron nodded at the man, who was flashing him an open, friendly smile. He was clearly older than them, and with his head full of red hair could probably pass off as an older brother to Bill. He had a thin visage with a luscious moustache that seemed a little out of place. But before he had even said a word aloud, Ron took an immediate, inexplicable dislike to him. Auror instincts, he reassured himself. Really. No, it had nothing to do with Frank White's upturned nose that reminded Ron of Zacharias Smith.

"Fancy some lunch? I could get something from Fortescue's and we could eat in here?" Ron offered.

"We just ate", Frank replied.

Ron grimaced, but reminded himself that the man's high pitched voice was still not a justifiable reason to hate him.

"Oh okay, I will see you around then", he said lightly to George who nodded at him and Ron left to eat alone.

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Ron dropped into the Burrow for dinner, trying to avoid the horror of cooking and eating for and by himself. Mum was ecstatic to see him, even though it was the third time this week, and whipped up a chocolate pudding for dessert on the spur of the moment. After the second helping of said dessert, Ron briefly considered moving back home, but dropped the idea once she started asking questions about how much money he was earning, was he earning the same as Harry, when would he be promoted and the like. It was close to midnight when he finally told her that he had to get back home as he was working the next day. She tried to convince him to stay over, but he refused since he wanted the privacy of his flat to make a Floo call to Hermione (he had resolved to at least try and flirt with her today) to wish her for her birthday.

This was a new practice at Hogwarts – McGonagall had authorised parents to contact their children in Hogwarts through the Floo for emergencies or special occasions like birthdays and holidays. Ron had owled Hermione in advance to wait by the fireplace in the Common Room, pleased with his planning. If he couldn't be there physically, at least he would be the first to wish her, he thought, as he threw in the powder into his fireplace, while kneeling on the floor.

As it happened, he wasn't even close to being the first to wish her. The whole of Gryffindor seemed to have assembled in the common room, huddling around a few chairs as they lustily sang the last refrains of 'Happy Birthday'. He couldn't spot Hermione from his position but he was sure she would be in the middle of the huddle possibly cutting a cake. He tried to catch the eye of a couple of fourth years before the huddle broke apart and people started dispersing to different corners, and Ginny finally spotted Ron. She called out to Hermione who was still being fed by cake by Demelza Robbins while Coote and Creevey looked on. Hermione looked at Ginny who pointed at Ron in the fireplace. She smiled at him and indicated that she would be over in a moment. In the meantime, Ginny had sauntered towards Ron with a bottle in hand.

"Hello brother, fancy a sip?" she asked, tauntingly proffering the bottle.

"What is that? Firewhisky?" he asked accusingly. Was he the only responsible Weasley child anymore, who did not drink in the middle of the work day or when he was an underage student in school? Oh well, she had turned 17 last month. Still, she was in school premises! How was Hermione fine with this?

"Yes", she replied, winking. "Madam Rosmerta has been in a very good mood lately. Not as particular about alcohol finding its way to under-age students".

"You got Harry to buy these for you, didn't you?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged. "He was there. But these were industrial quantities we were buying, so she must know that we would bring it to Hogwarts", she pointed out.

Of course she knew. But Ron had always suspected of Rosmerta of having a soft spot for Harry. In any case, now he was the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, who could resist that?

"Didn't Hermione object to this?" he voiced his previous doubt.

"Nope", Hermione answered. She had finally made her way to the fireplace, and was now beginning to squat on a cushion in front of it.

"Why not?"

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. "It would seem hypocritical if I was downing alcohol while telling others to not".

"Y..you drank?" Ron spluttered.

"Yes, I am of age, as is everyone who is drinking. I stopped the under-age ones from drinking, didn't I?" she said, turning to Ginny.

Ginny nodded approvingly. "Some of the younger ones may have taken a sip or two. But they are mostly sticking to butterbeer". Then she got up to go join some of her classmates who were singing a recent hit by Celestina Warbeck in a very drunken, off-key manner in one corner.

Hermione seemed to be humming along absent-mindedly with them when he interrupted her to wish her. She thanked him in a sing-song tone.

"You are drunk, aren't you?" he asked, narrowing her eyes at her.

"No, merely tipsy", she answered primly.

That made Ron smile.

"So Hermione, 19 huh?" he teased. "Quite the cougar, aren't you, with your interest in younger wizards?"

"Who?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Muh..I mean…you know…we…", he stuttered, resigning himself to a failed attempt at flirting. Maybe this is all he would ever be – Hermione Granger's best friend – who carried a torch for her since fourth year. And she would graduate out of Hogwarts, be brilliant at her job, and marry another brilliant bloke and produce brilliant little brats with him. Then he would forever hate those brats, just like Snape, though Ron didn't see himself teaching at Hogwarts. Maybe they would grow to be Aurors, and Ron would act out his hatred towards them then.

"…so many. I am the oldest student at Hogwarts. All wizards here are younger", Hermione was saying now, with a smile on her face.

Merlin's beard, was Hermione Granger, his bossy, studious best friend, flirting back? Harry needed to see this.

"I mean there is Ritchie Coote, there is Draco Malfoy, he is younger you know, and then there is Zacharias Smith, Michael Corner, Terry is also younger but he didn't come back. He joined the Aurors, I think…", she was listing on her fingers.

Ron was aware that she was trying to rile him up a little, but he could only stare at Hermione in delight and amusement. Hermione seemed to notice this, as her smile turned into a completely uncharacteristic smirk.

"But I don't know why you would think I'm interested in _younger_ wizards", she said with deliberation. "I mean all evidence points to the contrary – there was Lockhart, and then there was Vict-"

"HERMIONE, WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?" Ron finally burst out.

Oh well, what was new? As in everything else, Hermione Granger was a consummate flirt while Ron Weasley was _pants_ at the same activity.

There was a momentary lull in the noise levels of the common room before Ginny and her friends started hooting. There was also a whole lot of sniggering from the younger kids while some of the older ones were laughing boldly. Ron scowled at them before turning to face Hermione again.

"I will owl you Ron", she said, beaming at him. "Good night".

"Good-night", Ron replied and retreated from the fire-place, back to the confines of his tiny flat.


	4. Harry in Hogsmeade, Part I

_**19 September 1998**_

Harry winced at the extreme sweetness of the tea as he waited for young Miss Sharpely to bring her grandmother to the stuffy drawing room of their home. The elderly Mrs. Sharpely was the one who reportedly saw Rabastan Lestrange apparate right at the gate of her cottage, as she sat tending to her rose garden. Her grand-daughter had owled the Department on her behalf, though she herself had seemed sceptical of the older woman's testimony, when Harry and Dawlish had arrived the previous day to question the witness.

Dawlish had pounced on this as an excuse to do his job worse than the already low Ministry standards. He hadn't bothered to introduce himself or Harry, just rudely brandishing his identification at the old lady's face. Harry had felt sorry to see her fierce trembling, though Dawlish took his objections to the rudeness as a signal for Harry taking on the mantle of 'good Auror'. Cast as the 'bad Auror', he had then grown even more abrasive and subjected the woman to a completely inappropriate (for her age and profile) stress test where he shot out each question before she had had the chance to fully answer the previous one. She had grown more agitated by the second while her grand-daughter's whimpering increased in volume. Finally, the third time Dawlish had rolled his eyes as Mrs. Sharpely muddled between Rabastan and Rodolphus, she flung a tea cup at him. A tea cup, with the same dark blue flower patterns, that Harry sat drinking from now.

The shards of the cup had left a nasty cut on the side of the senior Auror's forehead (though nothing that a swift flick of the wand wouldn't heal), and he had huffed all the way to the Three Broomsticks where they were lodging. He had made it clear that the 'attention-seeking old bitch' was lying, and though he would deign to stick around for a couple of days, he was certain that it would all come to nothing. Harry wasn't really surprised at that. Not because death-eater sightings were regarded mostly as a hoax within the Department (denial was a standard Ministry-wide response to any possibility of bad news, after all), but because Dawlish's attitude towards work since the war, was similar to that of Peeves when in the vicinity of the Bloody Baron. Both embraced the slogan of 'Safety first!'

No wonder eleven year olds had to face three-headed dogs, twelve year olds had to get petrified by a monster residing in a school, and rank teenagers were ridding the world of the most powerful (and power-hungry) wizard of all time. This couldn't continue, Harry had thought with determination. He would work hard – talk to as many old ladies as required, patrol all the Hogsmeade streets _in disguise_ if that was necessary and capture every last death eater. Teddy should never have to encounter the people who killed his parents unless it was in Azkaban (it was another matter that Harry wasn't going to ever let Teddy within apparating distance of a dementor). So here he was, back at the Sharpely residence, seeking another audience with Mrs. Sharpely.

Harry looked up from his cup as the door of the room swung open, and the old lady from the previous day floated in, at a short distance above the floor. Her short and stocky build gave off an illusion of sturdiness, but she must be weaker than she looked if she was being levitated by her grand-daughter, a thin bespectacled woman in her mid-twenties, following right behind. She manoeuvred Mrs. Sharpely to the comfortable looking armchair by the window, and gently lowered her on it. She perched herself on the side of the same chair, and smiled sweetly at Harry, apologising for having kept him waiting.

"Why are you apologising Ingrid?" Mrs. Sharpely scolded. "The Auror Department is here to service the public, is it not? Or does defeating You-Know-Who not only give you a free pass to a job you are not qualified for, but also to terrorise invalid old women, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was surprised by her change in demeanour. While she hadn't accepted Dawlish's brutality yesterday either, she seemed far more lucid today. He ignored her barb about his lack of qualifications, having heard enough of that tripe from the senior Aurors. Especially since in spite of her harsh words, Mrs. Sharpely also seemed less prone to practice her throwing arm today, though he straightened himself nonetheless, mentally prepared to shield himself with a wandless _Protego_ at the slightest provocation.

"No, that's alright", he said kindly to Miss Sharpely who had started to make conciliatory noises after her grand-mother's outburst, "I agree. Please accept my apologies for my partner's behaviour yesterday". He is a right incompetent prat, Harry thought disloyally. "Mrs. Sharpely, would it be okay if I asked you a few questions now? I can come back later if you are not feeling up to it."

"What do you want to ask? More questions about my failing eyesight and if all my trembling was because the big bad Aurors were going to throw me in prison for lying to them?" she sneered.

Harry tried to look contrite. "No -", he said, starting to assure her.

"Because I tremble because of Parkinson's", she said, now in a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you know what that is?"

Harry nodded. One of Aunt Petunia's friends, Yvonne, who had often been called upon to babysit him, had a parent who suffered from the same disease.

"And I have bad days, though that's not the same thing as being senile. Do you know that?"

Harry nodded again. He was prepared to bend over backwards in his effort to ingratiate himself, as long as it got him some answers. Mrs. Sharpely seemed to come to the same conclusion, nodding slightly at Ingrid, who told Harry that he could now ask his questions.

"So what time were you outside yesterday?" he asked.

"Early morning. Maybe 5:30, wasn't it Ingrid?" she turned to Miss Sharpely with a questioning glance who nodded in agreement.

"And you were alone? Is that usual?"

"As you can see", Miss Sharpely spoke up, waving her wand in an irresponsible manner that her grandmother promptly chastised her about, "Nana has some trouble walking on her own. The Healer has asked us to ensure she exercises, but that's limited to a slow paced walk in the evening for an hour. But Nana likes to totter about the house when she is alone, doesn't she?" She looked fondly at her Mrs. Sharpely at that. In return, she got a frown from the older woman.

Harry smiled at the exchange. "So you were all asleep when Mrs. Sharpely woke up to attend to her flowers?"

Both women nodded at that, though Miss Sharpely also flashed a serene smile.

"And then _a_ Mr. Lestrange apparated right in front of you, Ma'am?" He looked at Mrs. Sharpely for confirmation. As she started nodding, Harry rummaged in his pockets and took out five photographs. Since Rodolphus and Rabastan resembled each other (both due to genes and their Azkaban stints), he had made Ron owl over mug shots of Avery, Mulciber and Nott as well. The latter three had been arrested soon after the Battle of Hogwarts, so if Mrs. Sharpely identified any of the two Lestranges there would be reason to investigate further. He got up from his sofa to hand them out to her and asked her to pick out the photo of the person she had seen.

It took her under a minute to hold out a picture of Rabastan Lestrange's ugly, sneering visage, her hands trembling a little. "I saw him, Rabastan", she said confidently.

Harry nodded. Now for the tough questions. "Mrs. Sharpely, did Lestrange see you?"

"I think he did, because he disapparated right after".

"And how did he react, before disapparating? Did he say anything?" No leading questions, Robards had stressed during Auror training. So Harry couldn't come out and ask why an absconding death eater, accused of crimes like torture, rape and murder had allowed a frail old lady to remain alive after he had seen her see him.

Mrs. Sharpely seemed to have caught on however, as she shrugged. "They don't take frail old ladies seriously, do they?"

"The Death – eaters?" he enquired. "Well, but they wouldn't hesitate to kill -".

"Not the death eaters" she interrupted Harry. "Aurors. Aurors don't take old women seriously. Why would Lestrange kill if leaving me alive makes the Aurors merely suspicious while an Avada Kedavra guarantees a full-blown enquiry?"

Because an old witch's death wouldn't merit an investigation by Hit Wizards, much less the Auror Squad, Harry thought to himself. At most a low ranking constable would visit, confirm from the family that she had been keeping unwell, and the case would be closed. Still, it was not a bad theory.

"I can tell you that he apparated, was probably taken aback by my presence and disapparated just as swiftly", Mrs. Sharpely said.

Harry decided to think about this later, possibly pick Hermione's brains when they met later (technically all Auror business was classified, but he couldn't really bring himself to care), so he took his leave after asking a few more perfunctory questions. Miss Sharpely offered to show Harry out.

As they crossed the rose bushes, and reached the small wooden gate, she turned to him seemingly hesitating over something. Harry assured her that she could talk freely.

"Mr. Potter, I admit I was sceptical yesterday about whether Nana had seen a Death-Eater. I am less so today, seeing her lucid. I am just wondering what you think".

"Call me Harry", he offered, "and Miss Sharpely, I am an Auror, it is my job to investigate all complaints, regardless of whether I personally think they have merit".

"Thank you. And, Emily, please", she smiled.

"But I thought your name was Ingrid?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Nope, plain old Emily".

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Harry bounded up the steps to his room in the Three Broomsticks, to fetch his gift for Hermione, who was waiting downstairs. Ginny was supposed to join them as well but she was currently sitting in her darkened dorm trying to live down a hangover. She would walk down for lunch later while Hermione and he spent some time together, first. Harry planned to use some of that time to question Hogsmeade's shopkeepers about any suspicious activity in recent days. Hermione had responded to the plan with, "Oh Harry, yes I will investigate your case with you", in a tone that she might have taken on receiving her birthday present. He was hoping for a repeat of that when he showed her the actual gift – an entire set of books on Philosophy of Defence against the Dark Arts by Pickwick Pritchard, the field's Gilderoy Lockhart. Well, without the latter's penchant for obliviation and fraud. And without the movie star looks.

When he entered the room, Dawlish was waiting, his mood clearly sour. Harry grimaced, having forgotten that they were sharing a room since the Three Broomsticks was fully booked.

"Where did you go off to?" he shot out.

"Just roaming around the village", Harry replied casually. "And I am going back again, with my friend. Will come back here for lunch".

"What do you mean ' _friend'_? Are you cheating on your poor ginger boyfriend who Kingsley stuck with that other idiot, to wade through paper-work?"

Harry coldly informed him that paper-work or not, his ginger-boyfriend and the other idiot were both War Heroes, not something everyone could lay claim to (staring pointedly at Dawlish) and that he was in fact going with Hermione. Dawlish enquired if that wasn't his famous muggle-born companion, a fleeting expression on his face that made Harry severely uncomfortable. He considered telling him that she was 'his poor ginger boyfriend's girlfriend' but then refrained because of the awkwardness of the sentence. Plus Dawlish was almost two decades older, so Harry was most likely misreading the leer.

His suspicions returned however, when Dawlish invited himself into walking to the market with the two of them. Hermione did not comment on this except for meaningfully widening her eyes at Harry, behind Dawlish's back, though she seized the opportunity to ask him several in-depth questions about working at the Ministry. To Harry's heightened discomfort, Dawlish answered each one conscientiously.

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The village was bustling as usual. The Death Eater sighting had got front page billing in the Daily Prophet, but according to Hermione, that had less to do with the seriousness of the case and more to do with the profile of the Auror ( _aurors_ , she corrected herself quickly as Dawlish cleared his throat) investigating it. Indeed many of the shop owners waved to Harry to slow down and chat, all of them asking after 'poor Mrs. Sharpely' and her failing health. Almost nobody asked him if he thought that the old woman was right and certainly nobody reported any recent suspicious activity.

The proprietor of Zonko's was the exception however, who sulked about the several suspicious newcomers and the 'carrot-topped unctuous bastard' at the newly opened Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes who smelled of a bad egg. Harry started to bristle, ready to defend George, but Hermione held his arm and whispered that George would be the last person to be described as unctuous (though 'bad egg' was often thrown around) and the man was certainly talking of someone else.

That someone else turned out to be a Frank White, who George introduced cheerily as the man in-charge of the new store. As it was the first Hogsmeade weekend since the shop opening, George had come down to help, while Verity managed the Diagon Alley branch for the day. Harry felt a weight in the pit of his stomach when speaking to Frank, but he was willing to concede that he had intermittently felt that way since the moment Dawlish had started acting predatory towards Hermione. Zonko's proprietor was _probably_ just being a garden-variety jealous xenophobe. George suggested the same when Harry took him aside to ask him if he had done a background check on his employee.

"Yes Mr. Auror. His credentials are impeccable", George assured him, as he pointed out a set of WWW Gobstones, that apart from squirting liquid at the player losing a point, also did a victory jiggle for the opposing player. "Frank has worked for similar start-ups in France before this, and Germany and Italy before that. His research skills are not that great to be honest, but he is a business expert. He has already suggested useful changes to make our Owl-order system seamless. And he is a likeable bloke, you know, that is one quality that helps run a shop".

Harry nodded, a little disappointed with the product George was showing him - it was derivative, if he was being honest. He was looking forward to spending a lot of his gold on Christmas presents for Teddy this year, and hadn't made much headway on the goal. Admittedly, a toy broomstick had been sitting at the back of Harry's cupboard since June. In July, he had bought a purple coloured stuffed badger that he thought Tonks would have liked her son to have. He considered buying a stuffed lion as well, on behalf of Remus but Ron had thought that a lion wasn't cute enough for a baby, and also that it was the kind of idiotic present Lupin would have never bought. He then thought of picture-books but Ron had vociferously pooh-poohed that idea, pointing out that for Sirius Black's godson, Harry had poor taste. "Besides, I am sure Hermione will buy him all the books he will ever need. Probably lots that he will _never_ need", he had said sagely.

"I want something for Teddy", Harry confided in George. "Something nice and thoughtful", he added, unhelpfully.

George smirked and shook his head. "Thoughtful isn't an adjective for an inanimate object, you prat. This is what comes off spending too much time with the Ronald Weasleys and Dawlishes of the world without the brightest witch on hand, to balance things out". Harry remained non-committal as George continued, "But I _have_ been working on something you might like, Teddy is still too young for it though. Tell you what, you go in," he said, pointing at the velvet curtain at the back of the store, "and I will go fetch Hermione. I can test it on you both".

Harry slipped past the curtain to what seemed like a laboratory similar to what the Wheezes' had in Diagon, though smaller, and much tidier. There were no signs of ongoing research or broken, discarded toys that he remembered from his visits there. There was one long work-bench, mostly empty and a large cupboard in one corner.

"Bare, isn't it?" Harry heard Hermione's voice and turned around, nodding in agreement. "Dawlish has attached himself to George, to ask a lot of detailed questions about Frank's antecedents. Really he is quite thorough Harry; I was there when he was questioning Frank. You and Ron made me believe that he wasn't particularly sharp".

"Experience can cover up for lack of sense", Harry replied wisely. "Though Frank does seem a bit smarmy".

Hermione smiled lightly. "Don't be ridiculous Harry. He is the just the right amount of nice. You have to be, to sell _anything._ Besides, George likes him".

"And Tom Riddle could turn on the charm when he wanted to. But," he went on as Hermione looked ready to argue, "But, I realise that the world isn't split into good people and Dark Lords, Hermione".

Hermione flashed him an almost doting smile at that bit of maturity so Harry decided to annoy her by recounting last Wednesday when he had spotted Draco Malfoy coming out of Gringotts and tailed him around the place, to his heart's content. No, Malfoy hadn't ventured neared Knockturn Alley, he hadn't even looked furtive or anything, but it was still suspicious for him to be out and about on a school-night. Especially when Ginny was only willing to sneak out to Hogsmeade occasionally while Hermione refused to sneak out at all. Harry's story was interrupted with George finally entering, while looking over his shoulder to loudly abuse ugly good-for-nothing busybodies in generic terms.

"Hermione", he ground out, "Can you please cast privacy charms on the curtain so that we may not be interrupted by self-important Ministry slaves?" He shot Harry a dirty look at that, quite unfairly, Harry thought.

Hermione did as asked while George used his wand to unlock the cupboard, and summon a glass box from the top shelf.

"I am still fine-tuning this, but it should be ready by Christmas. Also keep this a secret etcetra etcetra", he said curtly, as the box landed noiselessly on the work-table. "Want a drink while I give you a demo?"

Hermione and Harry both declined as there was no Butterbeer on offer – only Firewhisky and elf-made wine. They exchanged a look as George poured himself a large helping of the latter. Hermione started to say something but Harry pulled her to the work-table to look at the glass box which contained three large egg shaped containers. They looked to be made of porcelain and had tiny silver patterns all over.

"I have been researching a little on old magic", George said, the first gulp of wine visibly improving his mood, "spells often fall into disuse when they don't do anything of utility or if someone comes up with a simpler incantation. I have found that these are also great starting points for jokes, since they can be fun, flashy little spells that can be tweaked a little for great results". Hermione nodded.

"Okay, so I need you to repeat this incantation after me. _Expecto anima alterum_."

Hermione sighed and looked at Harry who shot her a questioning look. She shook her head and they both chanted the incantation together.

"Right", George said, "the wand movement is the same as when you cast a Patronus. But you have to think of your worst memory – when you were at your unhappiest, and say the incantation while concentrating on it".

"So it's the anti-Patronus?" Harry asked.

"You will see", George answered, opening the lid of the glass box, and taking two of the eggs out. He placed the first one on the table and asked which of them wanted to go first. Hermione volunteered by raising her hand, while repeating the incantation under her breath. Harry wondered whether she was thinking of Malfoy Manor and Bellatrix.

"It won't be tough for the two of you, but I am trying to simplify it for children. I think I can make toy wands that can be tethered to work for this one spell", George told Harry as Hermione brandished her wand, practising the Patronus movement. "Point at the egg", he directed Hermione.

"Expecto anima alterum", Hermione chanted stiffly, looking unnaturally pale, and Harry turned his head to see the impact of the spell on the egg.

The egg cracked open and a wispy, silvery vapour, much like a non-corporeal Patronus wafted out. Within a couple of seconds the vapour started taking a definite shape, Hermione gasping as a tiny stag materialised, strutting slowly towards the edge of the table. Harry thought it looked like a miniature version of his Patronus.

"George, this is brill – but…", Hermione looked delighted and confused at the same time. She stopped talking when George pointed to the egg again as another shape began to form from the vapour – this time, a cheerful Jack Russel terrier, that started to gallop enthusiastically in circles, around the bored looking stag. Hermione and Harry both laughed at the dog's antics.

"So these are miniatures of Ron's and my patronus…" Harry wondered out aloud. "What does it mean? You see the patronus of your best friends?"

"Well technically anima alterum means soul-mate", Hermione said.

"Ten points to Gryffindor!" George remarked, smiling widely, looking very close to his old self, as he gazed at the terrier which was currently licking the stag's hind leg, and wagging its tail hard. The stag looked ready to kick the dog. "I am not sure if it will always show the Patronus, given it's not very common for wizards and witches to know how to conjure one. My research said that it will be a representation of the soul-mate. The three of us just happen to be DA, and you are the first people to try it out, apart from me."

"And why the egg?" Hermione asked.

Harry marvelled at her academic curiosity. Her first question had to do with the mechanics of the spell, and not why she apparently had two soul-mates.

George rolled his eyes. "Verity thought they looked pretty. The container is redundant. It's what's inside that's important".

"And what's inside?" she asked.

"Trade secret", George winked. Hermione's expression reminded Harry of the time Dudley was made to diet, and given carrots to munch on as dessert, instead of chocolate pudding. George ignored her and signalled at Harry to try his egg out.

Harry had an embarrassment of riches when it came to unhappy moments. He wondered which one to focus on – the time that he walked to Forbidden Forest during the Battle, as the Order tended to the fallen in the Great Hall; the moment that Snape trained his wand on Dumbledore; and, with a start, the instant that Sirius fell through the Veil. Harry choked out the incantation and made the requisite wand movement as he thought of his grief in that moment in the Ministry, the railing at Dumbledore in his office, seeking out Nearly Headless Nick to know if Sirius could stay back...

"Look Harry", he heard Hermione say, and he looked up to see a plump silvery hare jump out of his egg. Harry unthinkingly reached his hand out, and the hare leaped onto the back of his palm. Though he felt no physical sensation as the hare climbed up his arm, reached his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, a feeling of safety and well-being enveloped Harry at that moment. Hermione and George both chorused out an "awwww", though only one of them was earnest.

"But it's a hare", Harry wondered out aloud, "not you know, a horse, Ginny's patronus".

"Soul-mate doesn't necessarily have romantic implications Harry", Hermione explained "otherwise mine wouldn't have shown both yours and Ron's patronuses. It isn't even mutual or exclusive as you can see", she pointed to the three animals. "It's just someone whose soul complements yours. Thought I suspect the spell is far more cut and dry. I think it works by recalling the one person whose presence can uplift you from a bad mood, and who you think of or thought of in your worst moment?" she ended a little unsurely, turning to look at George for confirmation.

George nodded, and took another swig from his glass. "More or less. Or you know, just think of them as pwetty animals that make you _sooooo_ happy", he said mockingly. Harry chuckled at that though Hermione continued to look serious.

"Why don't you try, George?" she ventured.

"I invented it, I already have. And this is the last egg left and the potion inside is rather expensive, so I don't want to waste mine for just for a show. I should make some more and get people from a different set – that is those who don't know how to conjure a patronus to try it out. Maybe Frank can help", he said; levitating the remaining egg in the glass box, back into the cupboard. "I should get back to the front", he said shortly, and left the laboratory.

Harry looked at Hermione, who looked far too melancholic for someone who was faced with the sight of a grown man being cuddled by the apparition of a hare. "Should we head out?" he asked.

She nodded. "Harry, I forgot earlier, I think we should call Luna for lunch".

Harry strained his neck to look at the hare on his shoulder, cast a _finite_ and agreed.


	5. Harry in Hogsmeade, Part II

_**19 September 1998**_

It was hard to be Hermione Granger' friend, Harry thought with adequate self-awareness of who _he_ was and what it had meant for her and Ron to be _his_ friend. Still, if they had had normal childhoods without a Dark Lord snapping at their heels, Harry couldn't help but think that he would have been far more resentful of Hermione's policy of frowning upon anything that made his academic burden even a smidgeon lighter.

It wasn't like he could use any underhand means to cheat in exams anyway, with the intricate detection spells McGonagall had in place. But surely it was not unreasonable to have some extra help in class? The use of Quick quill notes (not Rita Skeeter's version, a decent one that took down whatever the speaker said, verbatim) in History of Magic was almost a school-wide practice. It was not necessarily an _illegal_ practice, not that the student body had ever tried it a class where the teacher tended to actually register what the people sitting in front of him/her were doing. Yet Hermione wouldn't let Ron and him resort to those quills, constantly admonishing them through narrowed eyes and muttered threats about failure if they didn't pay attention in class.

But even this was better for their collective popularity than what she did in OWL year. Every auto-answer quill (irrespective of ownership) that had the misfortune of being within her line of sight was brutally snapped into two. Granted that those quills couldn't help with homework in the subject that was the biggest time-sink – namely Divination since the use of human imagination was most needed there, but Ron and Harry had secretly agreed that it was heavy handed behaviour, and Justin, otherwise an all-round likeable bloke was incensed enough to want to take this up with McGonagall. (He backed down when reminded that those quills were technically cheating devices. He had actually forgotten; that's how pervasive their use was).

When Fred and George had released their Spell Check Quill, Ron had called it a little piece of miracle. Harry had used them too but he was in fact most grateful when they had malfunctioned – it was like the spirit of the Weasley twins was roaming the halls of the Hogwarts to prevent Gryffindors from being punished for their wrong-doing. And though she had never specifically said anything against the quills, probably out of a sense of loyalty, one could say that Harry was surprised at Hermione paying for two of those at WWW's billing counter, while Frank White flashed them both wide smiles, and continuously chattered about his future plans for the store.

Harry felt sorry for him, happy and unaware that the vast government bureaucracy had already been set in motion against him. Dawlish had left for London promptly after learning that George had taken Frank's resume at face value (and Harry suspected that the promptness was for Hermione's benefit because it was certainly wildly out of character for _any_ Ministry employee), to do a background verification. In any case, he was relieved that he could spend at least an hour without his senior's baleful presence, roaming the village with his best friend and then having lunch with her, his girlfriend and his (apparent) soulmate.

Soulmate who was not the same as his girlfriend, Harry worried for the tenth time. Regardless of what Hermione said about the word soulmate not having romantic implications, he didn't want Ginny to know of the result of George's most recent product trial. He told Hermione the same as they finally exited WWW.

She broke out into a smug grin in response. "Harry, would you like to be more specific about that?" she said.

Harry was confused so he asked her what she meant.

"Instead of saying 'Don't tell Ginny that Luna is my soulmate', try and tell me why you think Luna is your soulmate".

"What, you were there weren't you?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Hermione dropped her shoulders a bit, and asked him to humour her.

"Well, not fifteen minutes back we were back in George's workshop, which for some reason you want me to recount for you and are unbelievably happy about". Harry took a breath and started to continue as Hermione rolled her eyes, "he showed us these eg - ". Harry had to stop talking as he felt the tip of his tongue move of its own accord and attach itself to the roof of his mouth.

Hermione beamed at him, then waved her wand at him casting a non-verbal finite. "Try again", she ordered. Harry complied, with the same result as before.

"What did you do?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the witch in front of him.

Hermione's smile faltered as she asked if Harry remembered Marietta Edgecomb. Harry did. He had spotted her in Diagon a couple of weeks back and unthinkingly waved at her. She had stared back, without acknowledging the greeting.

"Well I have been thinking about her for a while now, you know those freckles were permanent?" she asked. Then she sighed, continuing, "Really, what was the point of that? She had already given us away to Umbridge. And even that was an error in judgement, if you look at the larger scheme of things. I mean Draco Malfoy, an actual Death Eater who plotted to kill Albus Dumbledore for over a year is back at Hogwarts, and Marietta gets scorn on a daily basis because of a monetary lapse of conscience she had as a 15 year old?" Harry glanced at Hermione sideways who was looking vaguely troubled and slipped his palm into hers, squeezing her hand lightly. Hermione squeezed back and inhaled a deep breath. "So anyway, I began to think that I could have handled it better, thought of a way to prevent the sneaking to begin with. It took some time, but I figured out a way to set off a conditional Langlock even without anyone signing a bit of parchment", she explained.

"So how does the spell know who to include?" Harry enquired.

"I cast it right now, when George asked me to cast the privacy charms", she replied. "I have also shown it to him; he knows to cast it every time he wants the content of his conversations to remain private."

Harry wondered how regular people functioned without Hermione Granger as their friend, and squeezed her hand again to express the same sentiment. "So you just discovered the spell, and had it on hand to be used at just the right moment?" he asked.

"Why don't you try discussing horcruxes with someone outside of Ron and I?" she goaded, her smile returning.

"You know if I were you, I would use that spell to prevent me from telling Ron that you are a big hypocrite", Harry shot back. Hermione asked him what he meant, to which Harry reminded her of her purchase of Spell Check Quills.

"I don't need it for me", she said primly.

"Then? You are going lax on commandeering the education of your friends this year?" he teased.

Hermione mumbled a response which Harry was sure he had heard misheard.

"I am sorry, I heard that you bought them for Goyle. Who are you buying it for, again?" he enquired politely.

"You heard correctly Harry", she replied, now tugging at his hand to pull him faster towards Three Broomsticks. Harry held his ground and made her turn around to face him, scrutinising her face for signs of amusement. Finding none, he described the Goyle he remembered – Slytherin, Quidditch player, big oaf, Malfoy's evil minion – reasonably certain that Hermione knew of some other Goyle. Instead she confirmed that she was indeed talking of Gregory Goyle, the slow-witted arsehole that they loved to hate.

"The Ministry has frozen most accounts of convicted Death-Eaters, Harry. I don't think the Goyles were too rich to begin with, anyway. So Goyle has a tiny allowance now and he can't afford even these", she said, placing a hand on his shoulders placatingly.

Probably because he spends all of his allowance in Honeydukes', Harry speculated.

"And his spellings are atrocious, much worse than yours or Ron", she continued.

"Of course, they are Hermione", Harry retorted, affronted. "He is part-troll, isn't he?"

Hermione coldly suggested that Harry stop spouting prejudiced nonsense against magical creatures. Harry was suitably chastened at that, so he refrained from further prodding right then, but nonetheless resolved to ask her about this later when she returned to a better mood.

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Harry had been silent for the remainder of the walk to Three Broomsticks which suited Hermione just fine. She would have probably liked to talk about the case of the Death-eater sightings a little more, but at that moment, it served her purpose to act aloof. She had no desire to talk of why she was being charitable towards Goyle, mostly because she had no idea why she had struck up a sort-of tutorship (friendship was grossly over-stating it) with him in the first place. He was just always there in the library, and he looked like he needed help with his lessons, and Hermione was well placed to give him that help. It made sense in her head at the time, but she didn't know how to explain it to Harry or Ron. She had promised to owl Ron, she reminded herself, as Harry opened the door of the pub and signalled her to enter.

Hermione looked up in surprise at the chivalry, but his attention had drifted to the bar where Ginny and Luna sat chatting with Rosmerta. Ginny was looking wan after last night's revelries while Luna looked as serene as ever, her eyes roaming around the room. She broke into a smile as she spotted Hermione and Harry and waved them over. That action caught Ginny's eye and she looked to smile too, though it came out as a grimace. Harry laughed aloud at that, reaching Ginny and patting her shoulder sympathetically.

"The celebrations went as expected, I presume?" Rosmerta asked, amusement on her face. Hermione nodded in response, feeling suddenly grown-up. She thought back to fifth year, when a couple of bottles of Firewhisky had been found in the Ravenclaw dorms. There had been a two-day long inquiry into that (Dumbledore was clearly not great at prioritising) and Rosmerta had pledged vociferously about never selling to the underage. Now, here she was, sitting with them discussing last night's party with easy nonchalance. Was it the War? The fact that they had seen so much already, that a little alcohol made no difference, was now understood as almost-welcome?

"Madam Rosmerta, tell them your news", Ginny interrupted her thoughts.

"What news?" Harry enquired. In response, Rosmerta held out her hand, where a cheap diamond ring sat on her finger.

"Congratulations", Hermione squealed, immediately wanting to see Ron's face when he was told.

"Who are you marrying?" Harry asked, not a little abruptly.

"Him, right there", she replied, pointing to a corner of the room where a curly haired, bearded man sat reading the Prophet. "Bertie Summers, he was a journalist earlier, and occasionally free-lances now. He is not like the current crop, mind you", she said, peering at their little group as if to challenge anyone to compare her fiancé to Rita Skeeter. "We met last year, he was camping out here to follow the happenings at Hogwarts. Wants to write a book on the War now."

As Rosmerta continued talking about her fiancé, Hermione wondered if anyone would want to talk to the three of them about what happened during the past year. So far they had been approached by journalists to talk to them for stories in the papers but they had steadfastly refused. And only some of it had to do with their lack of faith in the journalistic profession. Harry and Ron were Ministry officials who couldn't talk freely if they wanted to and Hermione had been outside the country for a long while. And no matter who the journalist was, could they manage to tell their side of the story fairly in 2000 words? And really when did the War begin? Was it just last year? Or did it begin when Voldemort returned in fourth year? And Pettigrew helped him return, so wouldn't people want to know where Pettigrew had been all these years? How Sirius had been betrayed all the way back to that Halloween night when James and Lily Potter were murdered in their own home? Even a book wasn't enough to tell people the entire story from her, from Harry's point of view. Hermione wasn't sure if even seven books – one book for every year they spent in Hogwarts would be enough.

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"Hmm, she is not wrong you know", Ron answered thoughtfully as he took the letter from the Hogwarts owl and waved his hand at the bowl on the window sill, offering it a drink. "It is possible that Lestrange did not want to kill her because it would be sure to draw attention".

Harry had initially planned on having this discussion with Hermione but she had hurried back to the castle after lunch, probably remembering a half-done assignment she had to turn in after two weeks. She had also been lost in her own thoughts throughout lunch, which Harry hoped had to do with her thinking about what he had said about Goyle. If nothing else, Hermione was a logical girl and it was irrefutable logic that Goyle was a prat and did not deserve any sympathy.

"But there is one issue there", Harry persisted, "why couldn't he say, obliviate her? That would have ensured that nobody heard anything?"

Ron seemed to agree for a moment, then the corner of his mouth upturned a little into a half-smirk as he opened the letter in his hand. "We forget, you know", he said, mystically.

"What?"

"Harry, do you know how to perform memory charms?" Ron asked, knowing fully well that he did not. "Well, neither do I", he continued. "We forget that not everyone has Hermione Granger on hand to perform these exceedingly complex incantations that the majority of the adult wizarding population would likely botch up. And death-eaters are not exactly the brightest bunch in the first place. Lucius Malfoy, one of the better ones, couldn't recognise you because of a stinging hex. You, not only the most recognisable young wizard in all of England but also the one bloke his master had been after for years. And let's face it. Lestrange married Bellatrix – that's a sign of lunacy in a bloke, if ever there was one."

Harry nodded in agreement, satisfied by Ron's reasoning. "So who is this from?" he asked Ron, seeing his friend look increasingly happy as he read through his letter, though clearly trying to suppress a smile. He couldn't stop his eyes from twinkling however.

"Hermione", Ron answered, "So I take it you gave her a hard time about Goyle?" he asked, looking up and breaking into a full smile.

"I..I gave her a hard time? She wouldn't talk to me after I brought it up that it was stupid of her to be nice to him? How is that unreasonable?" Harry asked indignantly. "Ron, Hermione is getting all friendly with Goyle! Gregory Goyle! The better half of Vincent Crabbe! Who tried to set us on fire in the Room of Requirement", Harry exclaimed, his hands flailing on either side of his torso, making his exasperation clear, and his voice increasing in volume with every sentence.

"Yes, Hermione was there", Ron shrugged nonchalantly, "What's your point?"

"My point is that Hermione sees the best in people and loves to scold people into studying. But in her naïve desire to help, she might get hurt!"

Ron laughed. Then seeing Harry's serious expression, he frowned. "Oh, wait, you actually think Hermione is naïve?" He blinked incredulously. "Harry, death eater or not, Goyle has the IQ of a lobotomised flobberworm. You really think he can hurt Hermione?"

"But she is nice, nice people get hurt", Harry argued.

"Harry", Ron began condescendingly, "I don't know where you were when Hermione Granger was setting professors on fire when she was 12, or trapping and blackmailing unregistered animagi when she was 15, permanently disfiguring people in fifth year, really do we even know the same Hermione? This is the girl who obliviated her own parents because she thought that they were at risk during the War. How is that even close to naïve?"

Harry was a little unsure now, his hands settling lightly on the kitchen counter. He started to concede the point, but then turned mutinous. "What if she thinks Goyle has _changed_? Maybe he is appealing to that side of her. She is very forgiving you know?"

"Only people who haven't been attacked by her canaries would say that", Ron sneered.

"But", Harry objected, "Why would she want to talk to that lump anyway?"

Ron looked thoughtful, then shook his head from side to side. "Our Hermione? Wants a henchman, I s'pose".


End file.
